


Skin

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, F/F, Fluff, Skin, ace - Freeform, sensual, sort of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote sort of porn! More fluff than that, and exploration? I dunno. Bodies play a part. </p><p>Gwen notices Morgana's skin, Morgana notices Gwen's smile. </p><p>(This isn't porn, really, sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

It starts with a flash of pale skin. Gwen wants to unearth more of it, run her fingers over it, feel if it's as soft as it looks. She finds Morgana, Arthur's sister, and invites her for a drink. It takes three dates to get Morgana to come upstairs, and it's four before she'll let Gwen near. Five before Gwen's allowed to find the hem of Morgana's strap top, black against white skin, fingers running under the strap across freckles, down the length of arm, wrist, the bone there, the slender fingers, to the hem. It's as soft as it looks. 

When she's got Morgana out of her jeans and top, Morgana stops her and hops about to get her socks off, laughing, body lithe, controlled even in it's imbalance. Morgana stops, poised on one foot, sock dangling from her fingers. Gwen runs her eyes over thigh, buttock, the dimples in Morgana's back. Soft flesh covers her hips, covers muscle, and when Morgana moves, her skin moves with her. Gwen gets a handful of hip and pulls. 

So soft, so warm. Morgana's breath is puffs, laughter and moans, against Gwen's neck, head turning. Gwen guides her backwards to the bed and lays her out, bending her knee and feeling her thigh, the juncture at her groin, thumbing over the course hair there, the crinkled skin, the soft pink and the stubborn, jutting clitoris. Morgana shakes, leg trembling, fingers scritching over her own stomach. 

Gwen moves away, not particularly interested in that. She goes over knee and shin, thumb running into the softer flesh and then muscle and then ankle bone and foot. She crawls up between Morgana's legs and rolls them until she's under, hands running over Morgana's shoulder blades, sticking out like fragile wings. Up her neck and over the bones there, into her hair, and over her scalp to her face. Down over her ear to her breast. 

Gwen presses a thumb to Morgana's breast bone and feels her breath, feels her breath, feels it catch and stutter like her hips, sees her hair with the movement. She runs her thumb down, enjoying the soft give of Morgana's stomach, the raised freckle over her belly button, the scar to the left, the raised skin of a smattering of pimples, rough skin from something. Her thumb falls into the crease at Morgana's thigh and Morgana stills. 

“Oh,” Morgana says, “wow. I thought you didn't do sex.”

“Mmm. I like this, I like your skin, your body. It's lovely.”

“Orgasms. Mmm.”

Morgana rolls off her, thighs splayed, one muscle spasms. 

*

For Morgana, it's Gwen's smile. She doesn't notice her body beyond liking it well enough, doesn't notice her skin beyond the realisation that it's dark. Her eyes are beautiful, and she's going to take Morgana out. Wine and dine her like a lady, tell her stories and woo her with roses. That's the promise. 

In fact Gwen brings her irises, not roses, and doesn't buy her wine with dinner, just coffee. They see a film and Morgana holds Gwen's hand, enjoying the way Gwen's thumb moves rhythmically, stroking over her skin. They meet for coffee and Gwen's animated, hands describing words in the air, smiling on and on at Morgana. 

Morgana accepts her invitation. 

“I'm ace,” Gwen says, “asexual.”

The second is spoken with resignation. 

“Ace?” Morgana asks, because she's very good at reading people. 

Not 'asexual'. Gwen smiles, lips stretching, cheeks dimpling, eyes brightening in pleasure. 

“Like the ace in a deck of cards. Is this a problem?”

“I like touch. I'm sensile. Is that a word? Tactile.”

“So am I. I touch, I kiss, I cuddle. I hold hands. I just don't get anything out of 'sex'. The actual act. Bluntly, you don't turn me on.”

“Oh.”

“No one does. Not much does. Pleasure is different- sensual, not sexual. Textual, tactile, hmm.”

“Oh,” Morgana says, appeased. 

She still refuses Gwen's advances..

They meet and walk. Morgana expects a stroll along the river, but Gwen turns up in walking shoes. She has a spare pair for Morgana and does the laces for her, sticks her fingers into Morgana's pocket and tugs to check for give. Or just to touch. Morgana sways with the tug and her thumb brushes Gwen's cheek, and Gwen's lips stretch into one of her smiles. 

They walk up hill, higher and higher, Gwen leading them into the green, over the fields, over the stiles, up and up. Morgana follows, tucking her hand into Gwen's to make her smile, making a joke about a blackbird to make her laugh, bending to show Gwen the orchids she spots to make Gwen's eyes brighten with delight and enthusiasm. 

They break out into the sunshine and Morgana breathes deeply, looking across the city, Gwen's body leaning into her own. They stand in silence, Gwen humming a few bars now and then, fingers tapping Morgana's side, head on Morgana's shoulder, hair brushing Morgana's face. Gwen everywhere, warm and soft and smiling. Morgana breathes out in contentment. 

“It's amazing, isn't it?” Gwen says, “you can travel all around the world and sees the wonders, and miss something like this right here at home.”

“I have done exactly that,” Morgana admits, “I've never walked up here. I always meant to, but...”

“Funnily enough, it was Arthur who dragged me up here the first time. He had a fight with his boyfriend and wanted company for his misery. It was raining, so he had plenty of misery to keep him company. My hair does not appreciate a muggy drizzle.”

“Merlin,” Morgana says absently, “Arthur's boyfriend. Strange man. Strange men, actually.”

Morgana's fond of Arthur, standing here, with Gwen. Pleased to have him as a brother, pleased to know him and Merlin. Pleased that they introduced her to Gwen. She invites Gwen to go with her, tomorrow, to the river. 

It rains. Morgana goes round to Gwen's at the time she was supposed to pick her up, meaning to offer a coffee date in exchange, and Gwen tugs her inside, face alight with excitement. 

“Shh,” Gwen says, “listen.”

They stand in the middle of Gwen's one room flat, listening to the rain on the roof, and then Gwen starts in on getting Morgana out of her clothes again.

“You're wet.”

She is.

“Let me.”

She does. 

It's not until after, lying there trembly and stunned and lazy with content, that she notices. Gwen's bright eyes, her smile, her dark skin. Her hand on Morgana's stomach, dark against light. Her rounded belly, muscled over her hips, chest strong, breasts riding wonky with the way she's sprawled, boxers a firm line below the curve of her stomach. 

“You're gorgeous,” Morgana realises, “such lovely skin.”

**Author's Note:**

> When they walk uphill, I kind of had Boars Hill in mind, in Oxfordshire. It's got an awesome view of Oxford, it's where most of the aerial photos of the city are taken from.


End file.
